The Steward

Rebecca and I drove up the long gravel way until it crested a small ridge and our new home came into view. She sucked in her breath, shocked by the magnificence of the old mansion.

"I haven't been here in thirty years. Nothing's changed."

She squeezed my hand, in excitement or perhaps disbelief. The estate belonged to my grandfather, then my uncle, and now me, a string of unfortunate deaths leaving me the only heir.

My anticipation ceased when I saw Bidwell waiting to greet us.

"What's wrong?"

"The steward. He died in the same accident that killed my uncle."

Who Am I?

When my parents told me the news that I was adopted, it didn’t shock me. I knew that I was different. I have black hair and deep brown eyes, and both my parents have hazel eyes and blond hair. I was told I took after my grandfather who died before my time. Conveniently, no one had pictures.

I decided to track my biological parents. Now we’re meeting for the first time at their home, and I have a lot of questions.

I stood outside pondering whether to go in since I may not like the answers.

I turned and left.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

The Bequest

Matt arrived at the reading of Grandfather's will ready for his moment of ascendance. As the only living male heir, the family's wealth now belonged to him.

During the ceremony, Matt's seat was eclipsed only by that of the adjudicator. Grandfather was known for his love of pomp and grandeur, so it was only after many arcane rituals and benedictions that the adjudicator cracked open the will. "The heir shall find his bequest inside the labyrinth."

Next thing he knew, Matt was naked and bleeding at the center of a hedge maze. This was not the inheritance he'd been expecting.

Shadows Of The Forgotten Timepiece

He never uttered the word curse, but Dante had no doubt his life was marked for tragedy.

From his car accident at 16, to the string of outlandish catastrophes that followed him like ducklings throughout adulthood, including bouts of homelessness, addiction, and illness, both mental and physical in nature, Dante never caught a break, until finally he simply gave up all together.

Most of those who knew poor Dante blamed his lack of willpower. But they might have thought differently had they realized every misfortune occurred at exactly 3:13 PM. The same time he'd broken his grandfather's lucky watch.

Preparing For Landing

Do we have to visit them?” the eight-year-old asked. “Grandma is weird and...”

“Grandpa is mean,” added her older brother.

Elsa observed the linear perfection of farmland below, largely ignoring her children.

At their age, she rode a tractor alongside her grandfather. They made rows into which other tractors dropped seed potatoes and covered them with soil.

By summer, when Elsa returned from the city, those fields were lush green having absorbed spring rainfalls.

As the plane prepared for landing, she knew her children would experience a different summer vacation.

The farm was no longer a property her family owned.From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction regardless of the season, although she prefers spring.

You Become The One They Leave Behind

Grandfather waved us goodbye in his distinctive style, up and down instead of side to side. As we drove off and he became smaller and further away, mother said ‘Poor old man.’ He was alone, and living the life he’d always lived - the life he wanted - but I understood her sentiment.

A generation on, and my father’s on his own. This time we’re separated by countries and we rarely get to wave.

It’s clear to me now that finally you become the one they leave behind. That’s the way it is. The way it has to be. And that’s alright.

From Guest Contributor David Dumouriez

Platero And I: The Bridge

Do you remember last year, Platero? We were heading off to Señora Jiménez to bring her some deadwood.

We were already halfway across the narrow stone bridge over the Rio Molino when Juan, the warden of the hacienda, came running towards us. He shouted he was in a hurry – he suspected his daughter was meeting her lover Ramon at that same moment. He must have frightened you, Platero, because there was no way to get you moving. You stood there for over two hours.

Juan sends his greetings: “Tell your donkey that thanks to his stubbornness I’m a grandfather now.”

From Guest Contributor Hervé Suys

Hervé Suys (°1968 – Ronse, Belgium) started writing short stories whilst recovering from a sports injury and he hasn’t stopped since. Generally he writes them hatless and barefooted.

The Hawk

A red-tailed hawk screeched as it circled above. Grandfather pointed and said, “That is your spirit animal, my little one. You are a chosen one. It carries a message for you.”

“What do I do, Grandfather?”

“Clear your mind.”

“How will I know?”

“When your mind is clear, the message will come.”

“I’m trying to hear, but there is no message.”

“Stop trying, clear your mind.”

An eerie stillness settled in. “What will happen when they dig the new mine, Grandfather?”

The old man looked at the hawk circling and said nothing.

“We must stop them.”

The old man smiled.

From Guest Contributor NT Franklin

NT has been published in Page and Spine, Fiction on the Web, 101 Words, Friday Flash Fiction, CafeLit, Madswirl, Postcard Shorts, 404 Words, Scarlet Leaf Review, Freedom Fiction, Burrst, Entropy, Alsina Publishing, Fifty-word stories, Dime Show Review, among others.

The Bobby Pin Woman

In my brother’s dream, a woman was sleeping on his closet shelf. When she woke, she claimed she was going to kill our grandfather with bobby pins. She was surrounded by them, and called herself the Bobby Pin Woman. All the pins were short in those days, without the cushion things on the ends like now, that save your scalp. When we went to see our grandfather, he lay in a hospital bed that raised him up from the waist. At the Rosary, I asked my brother what “Hail Mary” meant. At five I only knew to bow my head.From Guest Contributor Linda Lowe

Linda's stories and poems have appeared in Outlook Springs, Misfit Magazine, Gone Lawn, A Story in 100 Words, What Rough Beast, Eunoia Review, and others.

End Of An Era

I never heard my grandfather say a cross word to my grandmother. They never had an argument. Love and devotion from another era.

She started fading and could not take care of herself; he was there.

She stopped recognizing him; he wouldn’t leave her side.

She needed more care than he could give so she moved into a facility; he moved in to be with her.

She faded from his sight after 63 years and 37 days of wedded bliss. I watched him cry for the first time that day.

I buried my grandfather and grandmother on the same day.

From Guest Contributor NT Franklin